“Milady thinks she can shoot me?” He moved forward, daring her to take a shot. “You don’t have what it takes to kill a man.”

Bryan rushed her then, the shock of his attack freezing Celia in place. The pistol flew out of her hand, skidding across the floor out of reach.

“Knew ya couldn’t do it,” he mocked just before he backhanded her across the face. His knuckles cut her lip open. Celia flew backward from the force of the blow, a haybale breaking her fall. She rolled away, desperate to reach the pistol, but Bryan landed on top of her. He was so heavy, despite his scrawny form.

“Fight me, milady. I like it better when a woman fights back. Come on, then.” He struck her across the face again, laughing when she cried out in pain. “Ya were a lot scrappier back when you were sixteen, ya know that?”

Celia was dazed from the blows, but still, she pushed and shoved at Bryan as he began tearing at her clothes. The rafters above her swirled crazily, but she was able to rake her fingernails down his face.

“You goddamn little bitch. You’ll pay for that,” Bryan grunted, his hands reaching beneath her gown. He grabbed her thighs, wrenching them apart. “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk. Plant my bastard in your belly and stick around long enough to watch you pass it off as your husband’s. A bastard for a bastard, eh?”

Celia sobbed as she fought harder. Kicking, scratching, biting—she was like a wild woman as he tried pinning her down. “I won’t let you do this to me again. I won’t.”

When Bryan fumbled to release his member from his trousers, Celia took that opportunity. Her knee landed in his groin with vicious accuracy and enough strength to drive him backward.

She scrambled out from under him, crawling across the floor to reach the pistol.

Behind her, Bryan wailed in pain. Glancing over her shoulder to see if he followed, Celia saw the way he clutched between his legs.

“I’m gonna kill you when I get my hands on you, ya fuckin’ whore.” Spittle flew from his mouth as he cursed, his face turning a scarlet hue as he checked himself for injuries. His pale cock now hung between his legs, shriveled and limp as a fallen custard.

A renewed sense of victory surged through Celia with the realization of what she’d accomplished during their struggle. She had hurt him.

I hurt him!

She turned, intent on reaching the pistol and shooting him dead, but instead of the weapon, she encountered a pair of gleaming Hussar boots. They were so shiny; even in the watery, grey light of the hay loft, they reflected her face back to her. Her gaze moved up and up until, at last, she was staring into the stormy visage of her husband. The pistol was in his hand and trained on Bryan.

“I’m here, sugarplum.” His voice was soft as he reached down and pulled Celia to her feet with his free hand. He brushed a few pieces of straw from her disheveled hair with a gentle hand. “I’m here now.”