Freedom's Price Read online

  Freedom’s Price

  Colonial America Frontier Historical Romance

  Jenna Kernan

  FREEDOM’S PRICE

  Copyright © 2020 Jeannette Monaco

  All Rights Reserved

  Except for appropriate use in critical reviews or works of scholarship, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or in any information storage and retrieval systems, without express permission in writing from the author.

  Requests for permission should be addressed to:

  [email protected] - www.jenakernan.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and locations are entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947268-18-0 (print)

  ISBN-13: 978-947268-17-3 (ebook)

  Library of Congress Control Number: TXu2-144-156

  Cover: The Killion Group, Inc & Unsplashed.com, Marika Vinkmann

  Editor: Mary Harris

  Created with Vellum

  This book is for all my historical readers who said they’d like to try a book not set in Regency England, Scotland or the American West and for all the editors who said there was no market for such a book.

  And, this book is for Jim, always.

  FREE book from Jenna Kernan

  GET MY FREE BOOK NOW!

  Tropical Target - Romantic Suspense - 80 pages

  Two near-fatal accidents on their honeymoon put an FBI agent and Tribal Police Detective back on high alert.

  "Kernan's story is just flat out good."

  – RT BookClub on Shadow Wolf–

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Excerpt - TURNER’S WOMAN

  Praise for Jenna Kernan

  Also by Jenna Kernan

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Virginia Colony, aboard the ship Hopewell, April 1666

  Mary Price had been through too much to lose her sister now. She swallowed back her fear as she faced the captain.

  “But, we are together,” stammered Mary.

  “No longer,” said the captain.

  Sparks of light danced before her eyes. If she fainted, the buyer might go, and she and her sister must get off this ship today. She lifted her chin. “Thomas Fowin owns the contract, and he assured us we would not be parted.”

  The captain’s laugh sent a shiver down her spine. “Did he now? Too bad he is in Bristol and you are here.”

  Mary turned to her sister Jane, who stared at her, green eyes anxious.

  “How old is your child?” asked the buyer.

  Mary looked up at the man. He was strikingly handsome save for his red-rimmed eyes, which made him look as if he carried all the sorrows of the world upon broad shoulders. She recognized the haunted expression and wondered whom he had lost?

  “How old?” he asked again.

  Mary stroked the blonde fuzz covering her daughter’s pink head. Tiny pale lashes fanned over Anne’s cheeks and her mouth pursed as if to suck.

  “Seven months. Please, sir, take us both or find another. There are many single women here.”

  He glanced at the captain, who shook his head.

  “She’s the only one,” said the captain. “Come, we’ll seal the bargain.”

  The man met her beseeching look.

  "I made a promise," said Mary to him.

  "As did I," he said. Then he turned to follow the captain to the forecastle.

  Tears coursed down Mary’s cheeks. “I’ll not go,” she said to her sister.

  Jane lowered her head in defeat and Mary’s hope died.

  Her sister’s voice came flat and lifeless. “We were lied to again.”

  Mary thought of her bargain with the judge and the papers she could not read but had signed to save Jane. “He promised. No prison and we would stay together.”

  “Aye, he promised. Along with good food and indoor work. Instead he sold us here, to this.” Jane’s arm swept toward the squatty, dismal little town and then to the door where the men had disappeared, and her expression turned to a mask of cold resolve. “He’s buying your indenture contract. You will be his and you must do as he says. Do not make him dislike you.”

  “But why me? You are the stronger.”

  “He wants you.”

  Mary sobbed. What she feared most had come to pass. She was alone with only her wee daughter to cling to. “I’ll not lose you, as well.”

  Jane grabbed her by her shoulders, squeezing tight. “You do not lose me. I will find you after I am freed. Just stay alive.”

  Hope sparked, igniting a fire of determination in her belly. “You will come?”

  “Nothing save death will stop me.”

  “You must not die.”

  Jane smiled and her eyes had a determined glint. How Mary admired her sister’s courage. Her own insides trembled like an underdone pudding.

  The men returned. Mary lowered her chin, preparing to meet her fate.

  “Mary Price, you are indentured to this man, Thomas Deed, for the term of seven years.”

  “Seven,” gasped Mary. “My term is four.”

  “Seven, as you signed,” said the Captain.

  The buyer motioned. “Come along.”

  “Wait.” She stepped forward, and with her free hand, clutched the man’s sleeve. The warmth of his body radiated through her ice-cold fingers as she stared into his pale eyes. Her voice implored. “Can you not buy her as well?”

  He turned his head away. “I cannot.”

  She did not release him. “Then have you any food? We have not eaten since yesterday morn.”

  The man gave her a startled look, and anger flared bright in his eyes. He turned to the captain. “You’ll get nothing for them dead, you know.”

  The captain shrugged and walked toward the two men who had just appeared on the gangplank.

  Mary released Thomas Deed and stepped back, clasping her hands before her as if in prayer. Her new master reached in his shoulder sack and withdrew a lump of hard cheese the size of his fist. He opened his hand and extended the offering to Mary. She snatched the treasure and took two large bites. Then she turned to her sister.

  She pressed the cheese into Jane’s hand. “Here. Don’t eat it all, in case you are not sold today.”

  Jane nodded and tucked the morsel in the pocket beneath her skirts.

  Mary turned back to her new master. “Where are we bound?”

  He cast her a frown. “North, to a plantation on the York River.”

  “Your name once more?”

  “Thomas Deed.”

  “Are you the owner of this land?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I am, and I’d like to get back to it.”

  Mary turned to her sister. “Will you remember?”

  Jane whispered. “Thomas Deed, north of Jamestown on the York River. I’ll find you.”

  Mary threw one arm a
round her, and baby Anne wiggled at being crushed between them. They separated.

  Jane stroked the infant’s head. “Seven years. She won’t remember me.”

  “I’ll see she knows you.” She glanced over her shoulder to find Deed suddenly fascinated with the port below them. Mary turned to her sister, and her throat burned with suffering. “Seven years parted. How will I bear it?”

  “You must.”

  She nodded, and they kissed.

  Jane lifted Mary’s bundle of belongings, helping her shoulder the load. Mary reached within and slipped her prize possession into Jane’s bag.

  “Fare thee well,” said Mary.

  Jane blinked back the tears.

  “And you,” she choked.

  Mary turned away, following this stranger to whom she was bound. He descended the gangplank and joined the crowd on the docks. On the muddy shore, her knees wobbled and she staggered. Thomas Deed grasped her elbow, catching her ere she fell. The strength in his hands startled her as much as the unexpected tingle caused by his touch.

  “Sea legs,” he muttered. “I remember.”

  She wondered if he felt the same awareness when he touched her and watched his pupils dilate like black disks rimmed with blue. He drew away, and she stared in apprehension, resisting the urge to rub the spot where he held her. What power was this?

  At the top of the bank she paused and turned toward the ship Hopewell. Deed hesitated and then halted beside her.

  Jane waved from the ship’s rail. It took all Mary’s resolve not to dash back to her sister. Mary’s daughter, Anne, and Jane were all she had left in this world. She drew her arms protectively about her child and lifted Anne’s tiny arm to wave. Jane pressed one hand to her lips for a moment, but the other hand continued to wave. Mary gulped at the lump in her throat, but it remained as stubborn as a fish bone.

  A firm hand upon her elbow brought her back to the tall, dark stranger beside her. He drew her away, past the brewery and the potter who was just opening his brick kiln. Mary stumbled along, raising a cloud of dust. The ping of a blacksmith’s rhythmic blows came from within the next house. Thick coal smoke suddenly burned her nostrils. Mary glanced back but could see only the top of the ship’s three masts.

  She staggered past a blur of faces as Deed rushed her through the low door of a wattle-and-daub ordinary. Mary blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the crude little drinking establishment. Rows of benches lined the walls and groups of men clutched noggins. The stench of sweating bodies and the tang of stale beer filled the air. Her stomach growled.

  “Oh, thank the Lord above you’ve come at last,” said a large woman carrying four wooden noggins in each hand. Her eyes fell on Mary and immediately turned to Anne. She lifted an arm, pointing toward the back door. “In the kitchen, hurry now before he has a fit.”

  Deed gripped Mary’s elbow so tightly she cried out as he hurried her through the room. She caught a breath of fresh air before plunging into the smoky kitchen.

  The thready wail of an infant brought her to a stop. Instantly, her breasts tightened and a gush of milk came from her nipples. Anne struggled against her with eyes wide open.

  Deed crossed the room in two strides and reached into a large cooking pot filled with linen, lifting out a newborn whose face shone crimson with outrage as howls rang in the air.

  The cook bobbed before them, wringing his hands. “I tried cow’s milk, but he threw it up.”

  Deed thrust the wailing infant at Mary.

  “Feed him!”

  Understanding dawned. This was what made her different from all other women aboard the Hopewell. She alone nursed a babe.

  She sat on a stump beside the open window and lay Anne face down upon her lap. Then she released the ties of her shift, accepted the shrieking newborn and held him to her breast.

  The infant rooted a moment, then latched onto her nipple with a force born of desperation. A rush of pleasure tingled as the baby drew his sustenance. She stroked the small, dark head, so different from her Anne’s. When Mary lifted her head, she found Thomas Deed standing motionless, staring at her.

  Uncomfortable beneath his wintry glare, she stifled the urge to cover herself until she noted his attention lay not upon her, but upon the newborn. His brutal expression struck her cold. Emotions she could not fathom swirled in the oceans of his eyes.

  Instinctively, she drew a protective arm about the babe.

  Chapter 2

  At last the babe had his fill, falling asleep as he sucked. Mary drew the strings of her shift together, then lifted him to her shoulder and rubbed his back. This newborn seemed so tiny compared to her daughter Anne who, at seven months, no longer molded to her mother’s shoulder like warm clay.

  Cradling the infant, she inhaled his scent and smiled. Then she gave the linen cloth a pat and found it dry. Anne slept on, nestled across her lap, oblivious to this little interloper.

  When Mary lifted her gaze, she found Thomas Deed leaning against the windowsill, a look of profound exhaustion etched over his rugged face. He dragged the broadbrimmed hat from his head and raked his fingers through his thick black hair. Then he fixed his red-rimmed eyes upon her. The man had been through the mill. She stilled as she recognized the haunted look. Whom had he lost?

  “Your son?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed as he glared at the infant. Mary’s heartbeat quickened, and she instinctively drew the babe closer.

  “My sister’s.”

  His angry glare shifted to her. She felt her throat close at the sheer venom in his eyes. What had she done to reap such a malicious stare?

  “She named him James before leaving this world.” His lips clamped together, closing like a trap.

  Mary rested a hand on the babe’s soft head. She feared this man but knew she must see to the child’s welfare.

  “Is he baptized?”

  He frowned, looking not the least bit troubled. “No.”

  “Is he in my keeping?”

  “I cannot suckle him.”

  “Then he will be baptized.”

  Now he gaped as if he could not fathom her gall at making such demands. She clutched the babe and straightened her shoulders, preparing to fight this godless man if necessary, for the sake of the child.

  The cook stepped in. “She has the right of it.”

  “I am delayed enough already,” said Deed.

  “Then we’d best be off,” said Mary. She scooped up her daughter in her free arm and turned to her bundle but had no free hand to claim it.

  Deed lifted her belongings, and then stormed out the door. She cast a glance at the cook, who gave a silent whistle.

  Mary stretched her legs to their full length and still could not keep up with Deed. Weak from the voyage and choking on the dust raised by the man's angry steps, she hurried along. With both hands full, she could not rub her eyes, so she blinked, unable to stem the tears streaming down her face.

  He did not pause until he reached the great brick church Mary had spied from the deck of the Hopewell. They crossed through the arch beneath the high bell tower and into the cool damp chamber. Mary marveled at the leaded windows reaching two stories high. Formed from hundreds of diamond-shaped pieces of glass, they caught the sunlight from the blue sky and splashed it across the red brick floor.

  Deed spoke with a round-faced man who looked well fed. After a few moments, she stood beside her master as the priest preformed the baptism for James and then blessed Anne. By the ceremony’s completion, her arms ached with her burdens, but the weight of worry had lifted from Mary’s heart. She had seen to the child’s salvation. Her smile died when she noted that Deed’s expression remained thunderous.

  They left the church, Thomas carrying her belongings and she cradling a babe in each arm, and made their way down the main street, past the potter and smithy, past the tavern where she first met little James, and on past great brick houses. The city was so open, with few buildings reaching two stories and each with room for a
kitchen garden. She paused to admire a flowering shrub all aglow with tiny purple blossoms. At the end of the road, a path descended to the wide river. There in the shallows sat a split log tied to a tree. On closer inspection she saw the log was hollowed like a trencher and held two paddles.

  A boat! A log-boat.

  Her breath caught. The conveyance was very narrow, scarcely wider than her hips and no doubt as tippy as a one-legged milking stool. Her gaze flashed to Deed, and his expectant stare confirmed her fear.

  “You cannot mean for me to sit in that.”

  He lifted his dark brow. “Unless you can swim.”

  Of course she could not swim, which was why she did not wish to get into that boat.

  He yanked the rope, bringing the log to the shore, then tossed in her belongings and his bag. He folded a blanket into a pad and draped a scrap of leather across it. Then he reached for James.

  Instinctively she swung away. His hands dropped. “You do it then.”

  She crept to the boat and carefully lowered James to the leather pad, so he rested face down. She kept Anne clutched to her breast as she lifted her skirts and placed one foot inside the craft.

  “Sit on that,” he said, pointing to her bundle. Then he stepped back to wait.

  She clutched the lip of the vessel with one hand and eased to the bottom as images of drowning filled her mind. She settled facing the back as Deed untied the line and pushed. Sand scraped along the hull, and the craft hurtled into the water. The boat rocked like a cradle. Mary screamed and curled about her child, expecting to drop into the river and drown.