Chapter 3: A Chance to Communicate

Claire scribbled furiously by the light of a candle, pushing her light sleepiness away as her words gradually built into a picture of her deepest feelings; the feelings that she would never share with her mother and father.

She set down her quill and examined her work written into her worn journal (it was evident that she had used it many times before), running her eyes along her eloquent handwriting.

She falls to the floor, and consumed within in her agony, she winces in her strife,

She looks to her heart and finds no wound, no weapon, and she realizes that her forced love has brandished the knife.

Of course, she hasn't finished her latest addition, but she tries to work carefully. She leans over her journal and resumes her writing, only stopping to work the knots out of her hands. She feels so overwhelmed by emotion, that she can't help but stay up as late as she must to expel her feelings, even if she wouldn't dare show anyone.

Although she despised the betrothal, her family had reasons for setting up such an arranged marriage. Both parties could benefit. Claire's family needed security, for they couldn't afford to be suspected by the king's army of being Loyalists. It was much too risky during such a dangerous time. The last thing Claire wanted was to put her family at risk, and as a result, her reason for keeping so quiet of the incidents between them.

And then there was Tavington…

He, according to her parents, would bridge a gap for them to some form of safety. The marriage appealed to him simply because his drunk of a father had wasted away the Tavington fortune. Claire's family had exactly what he wanted: money, and a considerably good deal of it.

The arrangement made her sick.

Tavington was certainly not stupid. He knew of the Greenwell's' reasons for the marriage, and because of it, he could exploit that reason…how? By doing what he did to her…and unfortunately, what he would do to her in the future. Claire couldn't stop crying, and she had to shove her journal away to keep from staining it with her tears.

This is a story break…This is a story break…This is a story break…This is a story break…

When Claire left the house the next afternoon, she took great care in taking in her surroundings before continuing on into the yard. She was not in the mood for another encounter with Tavington.

With the harsh rays of the sun resting, Claire felt only a soothing warmth upon her shoulders and a light whisper of the breeze float by, creating an easy-going and almost balanced atmosphere. The fields before her swayed lightly, as if politely beckoning for her, and the thin wispy-looking clouds dotted the skies like strokes of an artist's paintbrush. Claire took a deep breath and continued contently on her way.

Every so often she would look behind her shoulder, but eventually she was so engulfed in her thoughts and in trying to mentally escape her situation at home, that she soon stopped herself from becoming so preoccupied with her paranoia. After sitting down within the field, she tucked her legs under her and placed her hands on her lap, gazing out into the land that lay before her like an exquisite painting.

The sound of the wind running along the delicate strands of tall grass, and the resulting sound that seemed to hush Claire's troubled mind so much like a lullaby would, caused her to close her eyes, and in her muse, she failed to hear the sound of Tavington approaching her.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" he whispered just over her shoulder, and the rich sound of his voice scared her to such an extent that she gasped and spun around.

Tavington chuckled briefly as her eyes widened, and he cocked his head, crawling slightly closer to her, "Why so frightened, darling? You did profess your love to me yesterday, did you not?"

Claire remained silent, her breathing deep and her heartbeat rapid, as if she had just sprinted a very long way.

Suddenly, Tavington reached out, and his hand quickly wove around her waist, drawing her near. Claire did react to that action in particular though, and she gently, almost politely, pleaded with him to let go. She placed a hand against his strong chest in an attempt to push herself away, but he overpowered her struggling, and he brought his face inches from hers.

"Stop," he whispered, and he did so in such a way, that she stilled and gazed at him, amazed at how intimidating his mere whisper could sound.

A moment passed, and his features suddenly relaxed, his eyelids lolling ever so slightly. His hand traveled up her back, while his other lay still along her waist. He had been so near to her the day he had slapped her, but today the closeness he had achieved was overwhelming to Claire, and she deeply dreaded his next action.

"That's better," he whispered with a smile, and leaned forward to kiss her. Naturally, she turned away, leaving him to peck her cheek. Claire closed her eyes and panicked, deeply regretting her decision, while at the same time praising herself for her courage against a man nicknamed The Butcher.

Slowly, he brought his hand up from her waist, and placed in very lightly on her cheek, pushing her face toward him.

"Open your eyes," he ordered and she complied, hoping that she did not anger him too deeply.

"I don't wish to hit you, Claire," he murmured, "but I do expect you to be obedient. Your disrespect toward me only drives me to push my gentlemanly side away."

He leaned toward her again, and when his lips touched hers, she did not respond to his kiss, but rather let him do the work as he took in her mouth and ran his fingertips along her hairline. She closed her eyes, desperately hoping that the kiss would end soon. It was clear that if she had returned the kiss with enthusiasm though, she would have enjoyed it.

When he pulled away, she pursed her lips, as if guarding them, and tried to move away from him.

"Ah, ah, ah, I'm not quite done with you, yet," he said with a laugh, and pushed her onto the ground. When her back rolled onto the ground, she kept her head up, and transmitted as much fright into her eyes as she could as if in an attempt to persuade him with a desperate stare.

"Put your head down, Claire," he commanded impatiently, though a glint of excitement leapt within his eyes. She did as she was told, gently placing her head on the soft earth.

Claire gazed up at him, her breath shallow, her fingers lightly trembling. She tried to take slow even breaths, and fought to clear her panicked mind as Tavington dipped his head into her hair. She felt him take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of her dark locks, and she whimpered as he dragged his fingers up her arm.

Then, his lips began to touch her neck, almost lightly at first, but then his kisses became a bit rougher. Claire tried to comfort herself in the knowledge that Tavington wouldn't take his chances sucking too hard upon her flesh, for if her mother or father were to see any suggestive markings on her throat…

Suddenly, and as he moved on to suck her collarbone, she gasped and tried to turn away.

"Please," she whispered, "I-I'm not ready for this," she stammered.

"Oh, stop complaining," he snapped as he planted a hard kiss on the side of her neck, "In you situation, I would become ready if I were you…Look at you, trembling and whimpering as if you were in danger…Just be thankful it's not our wedding night," he finished with a chuckle.

At the mention of their wedding night, Claire realized how this situation would indeed pale in comparison, and she suddenly burst into hard sobs. Tavington growled and brought his head from her neck, his angry eyes only worsening her crying.

"Is it really necessary for you to cry in such a manner?" he inquired with a cocked eyebrow. As Claire only continued to cry, Tavington took his hand from her face and sat up, sighing impatiently.

With Tavington sitting up, Claire felt slightly better, and she began to relax. She brought her hands to her face and wiped the steady flow of tears from beneath her eyes and her cheeks.

"Could you perhaps sit up to avoid looking so pathetic?" Tavington asked almost calmly, even though Claire was obviously frightened to the bone. Claire jolted at the sudden sound of his voice, and looked up at him with widened eyes.

After a moment, however, she did sit up, and looked down at her hands as her breath began to come out in even exhalations. She breathed deeply, and wrapped her arms around her to keep her warm as the sun began to dip, signaling the late afternoon.

Something came over Claire in the uncomfortable silence, and she looked up at Tavington, who was staring with a clenched jaw into the distance.

"Why didn't you wish for me to call you "sir" when we first met?" she asked quietly.

Tavington's head turned, and his eyes shone with somewhat of a combination between anger and curiosity at such a question.

"You are my fiancé," he answered with narrowed eyes, "and as much as I want you to respect me, I want you also to feel like my wife. We need to make this marriage…as genuine as we possibly can."

"We can't put on an act Tav-…William (here almost a smirk came over William's mouth as she almost called him "Tavington"), especially after what you've done to me…I can't just live a lie like this…I'd rather live in danger than marry a man that I do not love," she finished with a whisper, regret soon washing over her for her words.

Tavington froze, but his face looked expressionless, as if deep in his own thoughts. He then stood up, looked toward the house for a moment, and then looked down at Claire, holding his hand out to her. He looked expectantly at Claire as she gazed at his hand, as if worried that it might bite her. Not wishing to anger him any further, though, she finally took his hand and stood up.

"You'll live in danger either way if you fail to cooperate, Claire," he responded calmly, and after giving her hand a tight squeeze, he released it, and then began walking toward the house.

Author's Note: Thank you for reviews so far!!! Please keep them coming!!!! They are like my fanfiction fuel.