Making love was the most remarkable experience in her life.
Portia felt as if she had just opened a Pandora’s box.
She’d liked it. He’d felt good inside her.
Even now a curl of yearning unfurled in her womb. She had lost her virtue, and besides being shocked and alarmed at what would become of her, she had a very strong desire to kick up her heels in joy.
Sothiswas what life was about.
This was what poets meant when they scribbled about love. They were not speaking of some sort of staid, soulless wanting but of a complete, boundless celebration of two bodies becomingone.
It was an incredible thought, until she remembered that Colonel Chattan had a reputation for becoming “one” with a goodly number of women.
Portia stood up. She still wore her cloak. In the darkness of her room, she walked over to the window. It overlooked the barn.
The lamp hanging from a post in the barn had been blown out. All was quiet.
She strained to see him in the shadows, but he was not there, and she began to cry.
Portia knew she was undone.
No one would marry her now. She’d beenused.
And, perversely, she wished Colonel Chattan would “use” her again.
Oh no—anotherwantonthought. If her motherknew, she would fly into a rage. If Minnie knew, she would be sorely disappointed in her older sister.
And then Portia realized if anyone in the valley knew what had happened, she would be ostracized. Their opinions of her would change. She was the spinster, the daughter who would take care of her mother, her family. The daughter who did everything right and who had a stellar reputation.
She also had to be realistic. Colonel Chattan had no passion for her, although he had shown quite a bit of energy!
No, he’d been punishing her ... she thought. Portia wasn’t certain. When he had first confronted her in the barn, he’d been very serious, and then everything had changed.Everything.
And she didn’t completely understand herself or her reactions to him. Such unbridled passion frightened her. And he frightened her because he could inspire it.
He also attracted her.
Of course, who knew how he felt now? She had not been kind to him. In her panic, her horror at her behavior, she’d kicked him, but she’d needed to have a moment to herself to think. He’d sounded like a lunatic with his talk of witches andpossessed cats. She’d needed distance from him. She had to regain her perspective.
Her kick had accomplished more than she could have imagined. They’d always told her that was the way to protect oneself, and they’d been right.
Owl jumped up on her bed, interrupting her fevered thoughts.
Portia hadn’t realized the cat was in the room.
She glanced at the door. Owlhadbeen outside. No one would have let her inside ...
Portia made an annoyed sound. Now Colonel Chattan had her suspecting the cat, and the idea was ridiculous.
Cats weren’t witches. Witches weren’t even witches. Portia was a modern thinker. Believing in spells and curses was the purview of the superstitious. The women labeled witches were often like Crazy Lizzy, lonely old women with baffled minds.
Owl had curled up in a tidy ball at the foot of the bed. She looked peaceful in the moonlight. And an overwhelming tiredness stole into every fiber of Portia’s being.
What had happened tonight had been traumatic. It was too much to take in.
Portia climbed into her bed, fully clothed. She took off her precious spectacles and placed themon the bedside table. Using her cloak as a blanket, she sank down into the mattress and closed her eyes.
Owl moved up the bed to her, moving with a cat’s light grace. She snuggled in next to Portia, kneading the folds of the cloak with her paws as she made herself comfortable. Portia fell asleep to the cat’s contented purring.
