Albert brightened. “Mrs. Wilson needs help while Mr. Wilson is fishing.” He paused, his expression pensive. “I have never actually been on a farm, although of course I understand the underlying concept. Have you?”
“No. City born and bred.” Hugo pushed up off the bench.
“What do you suppose Mrs. Wilson shall have me doing?” Albert asked, a pucker of concern between his eyes.
“Probably birthing cows, slaughtering hogs—thing of that nature,” Hugo said.
Albert’s eyes threatened to roll out of his head. “No, do you really think so?”
Hugo turned away to hide his smile. “Oh, I daresay you’ll become accustomed to it in no time.”
He left the boy to his worries and went to investigate the benches where Devlin and Parker had slept. The two men had left their bedding, so he now had two more blankets and could fashion a pillow out of one.
When he walked back to his bench, he saw Albert was rolling up his blankets. “Makin’ a break for freedom already?” Hugo teased. “I was jesting about the cow and hog thing. Miss Martha told me it’s mainly feeding sheep and fowl, lots of shoveling manure, and bringing in the harvest.”
The boy sagged with relief but continued rolling the blanket. “I’m to go to the Wilson farm tonight. Mrs. Wilson said there will be work that need doing early in the morning before church.” He tucked the blankets under his arm and stood. “But I’ll see you tomorrow then, at church.”
Rather than tell Albert that he’d be nowhere near the church, Hugo just smiled. “Good luck to you, Albert.” He watched the younger man leave, glad to be alone for the first time in weeks.
It was stuffy inside the meeting house, which had been shut for a good part of the day, so Hugo propped the door open. The sun was only just dipping low.
A huge yawn distorted his face; he would go to bed early tonight. But not before he washed himself, which he’d not been allowed to do this morning before being shoved into smelly clothing and dragged off.
The first order of business was to haul water.
He could wash his body in cold water, but the clothing required warm if he was to rid the shirt and neckerchief of the stench of another man’s stale sweat. As for the vest Martha had found for him? Well, it was best not to wash that at all as it looked held together by threads. He still did not have a coat, but that was fine as the weather was quite warm, although he’d been told it would cool down quickly in the coming weeks. Hugo planned to be long gone before then.
He unearthed the buried pocket of coals in the fire pit where Martha heated the big wash caldron and fed in some dry grass and a little peat until he had a flame large enough to heat the water.
While that was heating, he took a bucket of cold water into the meeting house and stripped down, using his bunched-up shirt as a washcloth. It was not the best bath he’d ever had, but he felt wonderful after it. Hugo could not abide dirt, especially on his person.
Once he’d washed his hair—twice—he wrapped one of the blankets around his waist and shook out the others.
It was a shame he didn’t have some of the lye flakes that Martha had used for her laundry, but he did a creditable job using some scrubby plant that had lavender flowers and smelled quite nice.
Once the old garments were as clean as they were likely to get, he squeezed them dry and hung them outside.
The five men had tracked dirt into the meeting house, so Hugo found a broom and dustpan. He had only intended to sweep the area near his bedroll, but once he’d started it seemed wise to keep going.
When he’d finished with the floor, he made his bed on the flagstone rather than the bench, which he found difficult to turn on without falling off.
All that scrubbing and sweeping had worked up a sweat, so he left the door open. It was almost dark and he doubted anyone would be coming around so he pulled the blanket off his hips and folded it into a pillow before lying down on his bed, not bothering to cover himself, letting the cool breeze dry him.
Lying there naked on the floor reminded him of that morning and he smiled, his cock twitching at the memory of Martha’s stunned but hungry gaze as she’d stared at him: naked and erect.
Hugo could spot the lust in Martha as easily as he could in Albert. It wasn’t much of a skill after thirty years of living, but it was—other than whoring, braiding whips, and wielding them—pretty much all he had to show for himself.
Anyhow, it didn’t matter if Martha wanted him. Mr. Pringle had saved Hugo’s life so the last thing he was going to do was thank him by deflowering his daughter.
Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have her any way he wanted inside the privacy of his own head. He smiled at the thought and reached down, his cock lengthening as he relived the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest.
He gave himself a long, leisurely pull, luxuriating in the slow thickening of his shaft and drawing out this phase of arousal—willing to wait for his first orgasm in weeks—and making it last. His slit wept heavily, as if making up for lost opportunities, quickly producing moisture enough to slick his shaft.
His fingers tightened as he pondered his unexpected attraction to the proper young woman who’d given him this impressive erection. Martha Pringle was pretty enough, and she was one of the few young women he’d seen in the past few weeks, so he supposed it was only natural that she would figure in his fantasy.
Hugo sighed; that was a lie. Or at least an oversimplification.
His attraction to her was more than just convenience. He also enjoyed their verbal jousting and
