Authors note - Please read chapter one first, I do not think a notification email would have been sent because I 'replaced' the contents of the chapter. And sorry, but there is a little bit of ickiness in this chapter.

Chapter Two - The Journey to Charles Town Begins

Later in the evening Thomas came to her, as he did every night he was stayed at the house. It was the usual routine, she sat up on the edge of the bed and he waited while she unbuckled his belt and drew down his breeches.

Tomorrow, I will be free of him for a couple weeks, Lyra thought as she stroked his length the way he had taught her.

"Lord you are beautiful, Lyra," Thomas gazed down at her and toyed gently with her white blonde curls. She hated being called beautiful, detested it. It only bought her trouble. Her own stepfather, visiting her bed. The women of Pembroke, scowling because their husbands stared. Nothing good ever came from her 'beauty'.

She quickened her pace, stroking him harder in the hope he would finish quickly and go away.

He groaned deep in his throat, bucking back and forth in her grip, his hand now trailing along her neck - it felt like spiders crawling across her skin. Reaching inside her shift, his rough and calloused hand kneaded her breast. She cupped his pouch gently and he gasped.

"You are so good at that..." he whispered.

Yes, I am ever so accomplished, Lyra rolled her eyes, it was dim enough that he could not see. His grip on her breast was tight, any tighter and it would be painful. His other wrapped in her wealth of hair at the back of her head, gripping tightly. She winced, waiting for the inevitable pull, as he always did when he climaxed.

"Ah, ah - yes..." his moans grew louder, and he bucked frantically. She moved her hand from his pouch to the tip of his erection, slowly caressing around the helmet while her tight fist hand continued tugging up and down. Lyra gripped him harder and dragged her hand down to the base of his shaft as his member began to twitch beneath her fingers.

"Aggghhhhh!" He hissed through his gritted teeth and clutched her hair. Lyra winced with pain though she still had the presence of mind to aim him away from her, his seed shooting along his length to land safely elsewhere - not on her.

Finally! Lyra sighed. I won't have to do that again, for a couple of weeks, anyway.

"Hmmm," he sighed, sated now, his hands moving through her hair again, rubbing the back of her scalp where he had pulled too hard. "To think, it will not be long now, we will be married, your virginity will finally be mine. And I will be able to teach you so much more than I have so far."

She tied the front of her shift in silence, nowhere as eager for that day as her stepfather was.

"I tried for years to get your mother with child. But you... You will bare me a son, many sons."

Lyra remained silent, hands folded in her lap, her head bowed.

Lord he is as eager for children as he is for my dowry. No, not children - sons. He only ever speaks of boys, not girls. She gave a mental shrug, he would not get her with child either, for she planned to drink the same infusion of tea her mother had taken to ward off pregnancy. She remembered all the arguments, all the times Thomas had raged at her mother for being too useless to bare him a son. Of course her mother could conceive, she had born Lyra after all. Nevertheless, Thomas never guessed the truth, never learned that her mother deliberately prevented her stomach from swelling.

Suddenly, Thomas seized her chin, his fingers pressed into her jaw on either side as he jerked her head back. He leaned in close, his breath hot on her face, and she gasped with fright and pain.

"What... Father - what is it?" A breathy whisper, she had no idea what she had done wrong.

Nose to nose, he studied her face intently. "We will be married soon, Lyra. I expected a little more excitement from you!"

Lord, he is mad!

"I am sorry, I am tired is all. I am looking forward to it, I am!"

Oh, please believe! Please believe! God, it hurts!

"Perhaps you need a little convincing?"

Expecting a beating, Lyra shook her head, a sobbing gasp burst past her lips. "No, papa, I am truly! Only another month or so until my birthday and -"

"Lay back on the bed, Lyra."

Suddenly understanding, she drew in deep ragged breaths, trying to calm herself. He would not beat her, but she was not comforted. Still sniffling, with shaking fingers she pulled up her shift and lay back on the bed, her legs dangled over the side. Kneeling on the floor before her, he parted her thighs and she closed her eyes as he began pushing her folds aside with his rough fingers.

He did not do it very often, preferring to receive pleasure rather than give it. Not that she got much pleasure from it. A small tension built within her, a weak pulsing warmth, as his fingers moved over her quim. His free hand moved under her shift to her breasts, his finger circling her nipple and kneading her breast. Lyra was quiet throughout, though her breathing changed, deepened a little as the tension increased. His fingers moved faster and the tension broke, a pitiful wave of... something... washed over her briefly and was gone.

She could not understand it, herself. It felt... all right... But when she tugged his erection he moaned and grunted, panted and gasped. And all for this? It hardly seemed worth the effort, to her thinking.

He removed his hand from between her legs and she sat up again. Her tears still wet on her cheeks, she licked her lips and swallowed, hoping he was done now. Still kneeling before her, he stroked her jaw gently.

"Are you convinced? I know you enjoyed it."

"I was already convinced, father."

"There will be bruises," he murmured. "You must not anger me, Lyra."

"I am sorry, I did not mean anything by it, truly," she loathed herself sometimes. Loathed her lack of bravery - would Ann Howard put up with this from her father? Would Charlotte Selton?

Such a coward. And this man isn't even my father...

"Good. Do not be stupid, like your mother. I do not ask much of you, only that you give me a son," his hand stroking her jaw moved to caress her hair. "I will bring a gift back for you, to celebrate your birthday. What would you like?"

"I am not sure. I have run out of charcoal and parchment, perhaps you could bring me some? Or some oils? New brushes?"

Just play along, he will be gone... Wait, does this mean he will not be back until my birthday? A whole month!

She smiled with pleasure at the thought, and Thomas thought the smile was for him.

"That's better Lyra," he murmured. He rose and pulled up his breeches. "Not much longer now, and you will be mine."

And my dowry will be too... My inheritance - you can burn that away as you did my mother's.

"Yes, papa. Not much longer now."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Who is that?" Sally stood on the porch, shading her eyes from the afternoon sun, the glare made the occupants of the approaching cart indistinct - shadowed in black...

Lyra looked up from her drawing, it was a portrait of Gabriel Martin. Her stepfather had returned two weeks before her birthday, giving her oils and charcoals, pencils and parchment. It had been the same routine of course, he came to her bedroom for the two nights he was there, but then he left again when Benjamin and the other rebels came to collect him. Gabriel's face was still fresh in her memory, it was a pity she would not be able to keep the portrait - she would have to burn it in case her 'fiancé' found it.

Thomas had told her he would not be there to mark her birthday but as soon as he returned they would marry. It had always been his intent to do so as soon as she turned eighteen, but that was three weeks ago now.

I've not seen him for five weeks now, perhaps he is dead...

She doubted it, however, she could never be so lucky. No, he was one of Benjamin's Captains in the rebel militia, he was simply too busy, she suspected. Either way, dead or busy, Lyra was thankful for the reprieve.

"Not Thomas, I hope..."

"He does not arrive on a cart, Miss."

"Who is it? A woman, I think!" She leaned forward intently. "Oh. My. God! Mrs. Bryant!" Shrieking with joy, Lyra lurched off the porch and ran for the cart.

The African driving slowed the horse, and Mrs. Eleanor Bryant jumped down and hugged her former charge.

"Oh, let me look at you! So tall now! Look at your figure! So fine! Have you kept up with your lessons? You better have done!" The former Governess' British accent was tainted with the South Carolinian drawl, she had been in the colonies for a very long time.

"I have, Sally helps me!" Lyra clutched tight at the older woman, her stomach leaping with joy, her face was soon wet with tears. "I have missed you so much! Why have you come? Thomas sent you away and I thought I would never see you again."

Eleanor was contrite, sighing deeply, she pushed Lyra away from her and held her at arms length to study her brusquely, trying to keep her own tears at bay. "Well, I had no intention of leaving you in his care forever, though there was nothing I could do before you turned eighteen. He is not here, is he?"

"No, he is out with the rebels. What do you mean, Mrs. Bryant?"

"I mean, you are eighteen now, and are old enough to take yourself away from that despicable man's imprisonment. We are away, you and I. Sally too, of course - she's yours after all. Tomorrow, at the first break of dawn, we are leaving for Charles Town, to claim your birthright and have you married before that cretin comes for you."

Stunned. Her green eyes large in her face, her lips parted, Lyra stared at her Governess. Stunned.

"I.. I can't leave..."

"Of course you can," Eleanor said firmly, already turning to the cart to retrieve her small travel bag. "As I said, you and Sally and I - tomorrow morning." She swept past Lyra and headed toward the house. "Sally! Lyra will need her belongings packed - all of her mother's silks also. Everything that she owns, from whatever jewelry that cretin has not sold off, down to her garters - it all needs to be packed and on the cart, we leave in the morning."

"Yes mam!" Sally bounced on her toes with excitement.

Lyra finally remembered to breathe. Drawing air in a loud gasp, she turned slowly, her eyes still wide with astonishment, and no little fear. She pressed her hands to her stomach and walked unsteadily toward Eleanor.

"Mrs. Bryant," she whispered. "He will come for me, he will punish me. I can not -"

"And how, my dear, is a rebel going to come for you in British occupied Charles Town? Darling, I will not pretend that this will be a safe journey. However, once we are out of the Santee, we will be home free. The day after tomorrow, you will be in Charles Town. The journey usually only takes a day, but that old nag," she pointed with disdain at the horse leading the cart, "is slow and... well... old, and not very strong. But she is all I could get on short notice. This is Arcam - he is one of your families slaves, and has been living at the manor, managing its upkeep. He agreed to come with me -"

"Agreed?" the African snorted. "She dragged me out of my blankets, she did, and would have whipped me harder than I whipped this here nag!"

Eleanor ignored him. "He agreed to come with me, and now here we are, and we are away."

"My families manor?" Lyra whispered. "It has been so long. I always thought Thomas had sold it -"

"Now how could he have sold it, when you were not to inherit it until you turned eighteen? Of course, he is your stepfather and you are of age now, so he could sell it. But no - darling. We will get there first, get you married and you need never be in fear of him again."

"Oh... It is like a dream... I want to - I truly do, but Mrs. Bryant. I am so frightened!"

"I know. It is a sudden, and very big thing I am asking you to do. But if you do not - he will marry you, bed you every night, spend all your money as he did your mother. It is your choice, stay and wed that... that cretin! Or come with me now, and start a new life that he has no place in."

"Lord... I will come with you," her voice was thin and high. But she said it, and it was settled. The very next morning the small group headed out of the house, Lyra closed the door firmly behind her and hoped she would never see the horrid little farmhouse or her stepfather, again.