The Renegade's Captive (The Widow Wagon Book 4)

by Megan Michaels

  “Yes, Angus.” She smiled up at him, sighing. “I can’t make any promises, but it sure feels like a boy.”

  “God, I’d’ be such a happy man, but all I want is a happy, healthy wife and baby.”

  Clara sat up quickly. “We’d better get to the house. Poor Grace has been dealing with my girls for almost two days and I need to help with dinner and dessert as well.” She threw her dress over her head, quickly running a brush through her hair before turning her back to Angus. “Can you fasten the buttons, please?”

  “Be my pleasure. He kissed the back of her neck, before fastening the last button at the top. “Now, don’t do too much, you’ve had a busy day today, and everyone knows you’re carrying my child in your womb.”

  “God, I’m going to be sorry that you know. Angus, trust me. I’m more than capable of cooking and carrying my share of chores.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  “Go ahead. Roll your eyes one more time at me, girl. See what happens.” He narrowed his gaze waiting for a response.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You will not be sorry you told me you’re with child, but you will be sorry if you do too much, Mrs. Warren. Trust me on that.”

  Her long, thin throat visibly worked to swallow. “Yes, Sir. But… how … how will I know if I’m doing too much?”

  “I’ll give you a warning ahead of time on what I think will be too much. But, if you are out of breath or looking faint, you’ve done too much. Clear?” He wagged his finger at her.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I don’t want you standing for too long tonight—you’ve had an active day, and I ‘d like you sitting more than standing. The girls can help with dishes, and you can make biscuits or bread sitting down as well as standing. Don’t defy me on this; you won’t like the consequences.”

  “Angus.” She whined and drooped her shoulders in despair. “I can’t just sit and watch. It won’t look right.”

  “Clara.” He dragged her name out. “Grace carried three sons before and understands. Those are the rules. You choose to follow them or ask for the consequences by not following them.”

  And he hoped for her bottom’s sake that she’d make the right choice tonight. He didn’t relish the idea of her receiving yet another punishment.

  “That reminds me. When we get to the next town, we’re going to be purchasing a log. You’ll be keeping track of your sins, so we can tally up some swats and punishments for when you are all healed from our child. I won’t be strict with you—I want to go easy on you after all, but that doesn’t mean you won’t deal with your comeuppance later.”

  The look on her face was priceless. She stared at him, just blinking. Like he’d come in covered from head-to-toe in tar.

  “You’re going to make me write down what I’ve done wrong and my punishment—and then give them to me later?” She knit her eyebrows together.

  “Indeed. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. There’s no way I can remember them all—you misbehave too often.” He swatted her backside, sending her on her way out of the wagon. “No, you behave tonight, young lady.”

  Clara grabbed her bottom before climbing down and walking at a brisk pace to the house, watching over her shoulder to see if he was directly behind her.

  Keeping her on her toes and behaving would be a full time job until his child came into the world. It was imperative that he make it to Oregon before the snow, his children’s’ lives depended on it. And it looked like they would be staying out west until spring at least. They’d have to decide if they wanted to move back to Missouri taking the Union Pacific Railroad or remain in Oregon and make it their home.

  Chapter 13

  “Put your sewing down. Go to the barn.”

  Grace’s throat visibly worked swallowing and her eyes widened in fear. “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to; she knew what she had done wrong and knew that the consequences for being a bad girl were meted out in the barn. It had been that way since they married.

  She quickly rose, rubbing her hands on her skirt before quickly leaving the room. He swore he heard her gasp with a small sob. It had been a while since she’d been spanked. No need. As a grown woman with grown children of her own, she knew the rules and had learned to submit to his authority years ago.

  Overall, she was a very good girl. Most days. But on some, she found it difficult to hold back her temper and tongue. When talking with other men about their women, they’d agreed that although the fire of a young, irresponsible, petulant, and defiant wife had waned, replaced by a sweet, kind, submissive wife—but since the change, her temper and mouth had become an issue again.

  There was a measure of comfort in knowing that other men his age were going through this trial too. But on days like this, having his wife embarrass him by being sassy to a houseguest—well that was just more than he could or would tolerate. She knew better. Knew he had rules about being sassy. Playful fun—in measured quantities was okay—between them. But being allowed to sass him in public? No. And to be sassy to a guest or stranger?

  Absolutely not!

  She had asked for a spanking. Clear-cut. No doubts about it.

  He blew out some of the candles in the house, not wanting a fire, but leaving a couple of lanterns on in case Silas or Minnie woke up needing to come downstairs. He dawdled a bit on leaving the house, giving her time to prepare.

  She knew how he expected to find her. And God help her if she wasn’t obedient in the preparation. Getting paddled for disobedience would be harsh enough, but defying his decree on readying herself would be met with a belt before the punishment began.

  Henry leaned against the doorframe looking toward the barn, seeing shadows dancing in the light of the lantern. His cock jerked behind his denim pants thinking of her plump, alabaster bottom raised up high over his lap, her pussy peeking between her legs, and if she were angled correctly, he’d have a clear view of her dusky hole as well.

  He never took pleasure in punishing his lovely bride, and she would always be his bride—no matter how old they became—until the day one of them died. He didn’t like being the cause of her anguish, yet he cherished every swat, mark, and tear that resulted from his hand.

  Guiding and disciplining his girl would never be something he’d tire of; he loved her little red nose from crying, the little catch in her breathing. All of it made her adorable in his eyes. He loved seeing his girl contrite and remorseful—she was at her most innocent in that state. The back of her small hand wiping away her tears, her lip trembling, and she’d apologize with a stutter while her other hand rubbed her inflamed flesh, unless, of course, he forbade it.

  He’d rather have her be a meek, obedient wife, but having an opportunity to paddle her bottom was something he looked forward to when the situation arose.

  I better get to it!

  He pushed off the doorframe, swinging the creaky screen door open, letting it slam against the frame when it closed. It would be her warning signal that he was on his way.

  With a lantern in his hand to light the way, he walked into the barn, resting the light on a small shelf on the inside wall.

  He whistled low and long, sauntering up to his completely naked wife standing near the chair he used for spanking, with her hands laced behind her head and her hair swept up onto the top of her head, soft tendrils of hair on her neck and brow. “My God, Grace, you’re a beautiful woman. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you like this. I swear I want nothing more than to just fuck you.”

  “Henry! My land’s such language. You aren’t in a saloon!”

  Henry pinched her backside. Hard. “Don’t take up that tone with me, girl.” He skated his index finger slowly down her side from her breast to hip, swirling over her sensitive hipbones to tease the hair on her mons. “You’re just as hot as you were thirty years ago, woman.”

  “And apparently you’ve gone blind in thirty years,” she said rolling her eyes, her voice dripping
with sarcasm.

  Swinging his arm out wide, he swatted the center of her hind end, watching a pink handprint quickly bloom. “You will not talk to me like this. You obviously need a lesson more than I realized. Maybe sitting on a sore bottom will help you keep a guard on that tongue.”

  Grace stared at him mutely. If she didn’t straighten up, this would be a long night.

  * * *

  Grace knew she needed to restrain her comments and keep quiet, but why did it take so much energy to hold back? She’d never been an impulsive person. Her sister had been that way, but Grace had always been more methodical, planning out what she would say or do ahead of time.

  How could going through the change make this much of a difference in her personality? She just didn’t understand it. Like being sassy and questioning Angus on what he did with his wife, there was a time when she wouldn’t have said anything of the sort—not even if someone paid her to say it.

  And tonight she’d be paying the price for that bit of freedom; that bit of foolishness and, even now, she couldn’t seem to hold back her tongue from sarcasm—standing naked in the barn waiting for her punishment.

  Henry stood with his hands on his hips. “So I’ll say it again. You’re just as beautiful as you were thirty years ago, Grace.”

  And although she didn’t believe a whit of it, she smiled. “Thank you, Henry.”

  “See that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Harder than you know.” She didn’t have it laced with sarcasm, which helped, but he still didn’t seem pleased with the response.

  “You were a bad girl today, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  Oh, God. Why is this so hard, especially when I love it so much?

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Good girl.” He walked around her body, sliding his finger along her skin, goose bumps rising in his wake. “Tell Daddy what you did to Mr. Angus and why you’re getting paddled for it.”

  She hated reciting her sins. Hated the humiliation, but at that moment, her juices let down and pooled at the seam of her labia.

  “I questioned what he did with his wife and made it sound like he had mistreated her.”

  Henry whispered so close to her neck, the small hairs there. “And why do you deserve to be paddled for it, little girl?”

  “Because I’m never allowed to be sassy to anyone—especially guests and strangers… Daddy. And because I don’t question what other people do in their marriage.” She struggled to keep her hands on her head, wanting to shield her sex, or bottom—or both.

  With no warning, Henry grabbed her elbow pulling her arm from her head, holding it tightly in his firm grip while he began swatting her backside—fast and hard.

  Grace rose up on her tiptoes, dancing in place, doing her best to stay in place. But unable to succeed, she pulled her hips forward and tried skipping away, which only led to them spinning in a circle while his large hand punished her scalding hot flesh, over and over.

  Her yelps and squeals turned into shouts. “Daddy! I’m sorry.”

  Henry panted with the exertion required to hold her arm, doing his best to steady her while she kept moving. But as far as Grace was concerned, her movements didn’t seem to interfere whatsoever.

  Stopping, he stood watching her with his arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t until his gaze focused on her breasts that she realized that in her post-spanking dance, she’d been giving him quite a show—her breasts bouncing and wobbling with every hop and skip. She stopped dancing but continued to rub her bottom vigorously, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Since standing still seems to be more than you can handle, you’ll bend over holding the seat of the chair. You will hold still and submit to your punishment. Taking responsibility for your misbehavior means accepting the discipline you deserve. Get into position.”

  Henry pointed toward the old black, spindled chair; Grace gripped the edge, staring at the chipped white areas of the seat from years of use in this barn. She hated this damn chair.

  His boots scuffed on the gritty, dirt covered wooden floor, and she looked over her shoulder to see where he was going. He went to his tool bench, and she groaned inside. She knew what this meant.

  The large, pine paddle. The one he had fashioned not long after they’d married. It was large enough that the round, smoothed and varnished area covered almost the whole of her bottom. Who knew how much use that paddle would have in the course of their marriage? Twirling it in his hand, he walked up to her, tapping the cool wood against her bottom. Immediately, her bottom tingled in anticipation of the pain.

  “This bottom is pretty pink already, do you think you’ll hold still, girl?”

  “I’ll try, Daddy.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?” He ran his other hand down the length of her back, dipping a finger down the crack of her bottom, forcing her to clench, jerking her hips forward in reaction. “I’m not going to hold you, sweet pea. You’ll show remorse by holding still. If I have to reposition you, tell you to keep your hands out of the way, or keep your hips still, you’ll receive extras with the strap. Clear?”

  Grace felt concern for her little ass, and she wasn’t even sure she could comply. “Oh, Henry. Yes.”

  Splat! “Is that how you respond to me in punishment?”

  “No—I mean—yes, Daddy. I’ll hold still.”

  She felt the air whoosh as the paddle pulled away from her bottom. It took a second for the pain to register—the pain associated with the first swat always surprised her. She tucked her hips, only to have his hard hand snatch her hip and thrust her bottom up and out. He slapped the underside of each cheek twice, and it was more than enough as a warning to push her bottom out, not tucking it.

  Her Daddy meant business. He swatted her bottom repeatedly, and try as she might, she found it increasingly difficult to hold still. The burn became so intense, the pain snaking down her legs, making it impossible not to dance in place.

  “Turn your toes in. This dancing stops, now. Heels out, toes in. That’ll keep you from clenching and dancing. That’s five with the belt.” Henry didn’t even stop swatting as he gave his order.

  Grace turned her feet, standing pigeon-toed; her bottom began to feel like it may go numb. It had been years since her Daddy had paddled her backside this hard.

  Henry stayed his hand, and through her sobs, she could hear him gasping for breath, worn out from the exertion.

  Her tears dripped onto the chair, the dusty black paint now splattered with the evidence of her remorse. She hiccupped, sniffling, her cries dwindling to quiet sobs.

  “What won’t you do again?” Henry tossed the pine paddle, clattering noisily onto the wooden floor.

  Grace quickly responded, wanting to be as obedient as possible. “I w-won’t be sassy to anyone, including you, Daddy.”

  Henry chuckled quietly, his deep rolling laugh making her smile through her tears. “You always seem to promise that, but it seems your mouth has a mind of its own.”

  She wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. Intending to be a good girl and being one were two things she had difficulty doing, but the way her buttocks throbbed, she swore she’d make it a reality this time. “I promise, Daddy.”

  “I’m sure you do, baby.”

  The jingle of his belt buckle made her groan, her tears starting fresh. She’d forgotten about the extras for not holding still.

  “What are the rules about standing still? And why do I enforce those rules with my belt?” Henry tapped the cool leather on her inflamed flesh, and Grace swore she felt her skin jump, her knees knocking in anticipation of the lash.

  “I’m s-supposed to hold still, so you don’t hit other areas near my b-bottom. Holding still is a rule because it sh-shows I’m sorry and taking my p-punishment like a grown woman.”

  “Did you do that?” His calloused hand brushed along her, and although it hurt and she wished he’d stop, she quietly accepted his comfort.


  “No, Daddy.”

  “No, you didn’t. Five.” He tucked her against his hip, which meant they’d be hard enough that she wouldn’t be able to control herself.

  She coughed on a sob, her legs shaking, and the five lines of fire were all to her sit spots. As soon as he let go of her waist, she stood, and danced around the barn, holding her bottom with both hands. The pain seemed to increase and wane in waves, and she couldn’t be sure dancing or holding the injured anatomy helped, but she figured it sure as hell couldn’t hurt.

  Through her watery eyes, she saw Henry smirking with his arms crossed over his chest, taking pure unadulterated joy in her dancing around the barn.

  She must have furrowed her eyebrows because he pushed off the beam he’d been resting against, slowly sauntering toward her. “I think I’d straighten my face if I were you, little girl.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Have you learned your lesson?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He tilted her chin up. “Tomorrow you’ll apologize to Angus, or we’ll revisit this issue. Clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Now come on over here and sit on my lap, bad girl. I need to feel your soft flesh in my arms.”

  Chapter 14

  Minnie had woken up hearing what sounded like slapping and shouts and cries from the barn. She listened longer and had no doubt that was exactly what she was hearing. A spanking. She’d had enough of them to know the sounds associated.

  As she lay there a little longer, she realized that she had to make a trip to the outhouse. They had a bedpan, but if the weather was beautiful, she preferred that to emptying and cleaning it in the morning. She looked over at Silas, who was lying on his back, mouth partway open, a soft, small snore coming from him. The steady rise and fall of his chest called to her; she wanted nothing more than to rest her head upon him, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.

  But more important things needed to be dealt with first—the crying in the barn, which had stopped. She heard footfalls on the back stairs, alerting her that it must have been Grace and Henry.