The Rebel's Secret (Ride Hard Book 3)

by Zoe Blake

  What he found both enraged and strengthened his resolve.

  At first, he found only the usual supplies; hardtack, jerky, flint, some rope, extra bullets. Tucked in deep, he found a leather pouch filled with money. A thick roll of greenbacks as well as some Spanish gold. He had expected her to have some useless Confederate cash but not this. The little baggage had some real money stashed here. More than enough to live in luxury, especially out in the West. Yet, the state of her dusty uniform and the fact she hadn’t eaten a hot, decent meal in at least a few days told him otherwise. It meant she must have been keeping to the wilds and avoiding the mining towns. Smart girl. That pitiful disguise would not last for long. The more she was surrounded by people, the more likely she would be found out… the more danger she would be in.

  For some reason, she chose to risk it all and enter the boom town next to Fort McIntosh last night. Why?

  He found the answer to the mystery rolled up inside a torn piece of oilskin. Letters and telegrams, going back several years.

  MASTER BRANDON ARMISTEAD,

  I regret to inform you our investigation into the untimely death of your father, Leopolt Armistead, has been closed. While we appreciate and share in your concerns regarding the suspicious manner of his death, at this time, we can find no evidence of foul play and nothing to suspect it was anything other than a footpad intent on stealing his purse. At your request, we will keep a small sum of yours on account, and should any new evidence or facts in the case come to light, we will surely inform you.

  Sincerely,

  Reginald Herald

  Pinkerton Detective Agency

  BRANDON,

  I demand you tell me the whereabouts of your sister, Michaela. You have no right to keep her from me. I am her mother. Only I know what is best. She needs to return and marry. At once.

  Beulah Armistead, widow

  MICHAELA,

  Your uncle and I were so saddened to learn of your dear brother’s death. Please, we beg you to reconsider our offer to come live with us in Philadelphia. You cannot continue following his regiment as you have done. It is unseemly! Please. We will find you a husband. He need never know of your scandalous behavior during the war.

  Your dear aunt

  MISS MICHAELA ARMISTEAD

  Upon review of the terms of your father’s last will and testament, the answer to your inquiry is no. Your mother has no legal right to any of the money your father set aside for your use. There is a small stipend which is to be used at your discretion. It is primarily the interest on the main account. You may draw upon that money whenever you choose without permission. The principle amount will become yours upon the occasion of your marriage, at which time, of course, the money will be in the control of your husband. I hope this answers your inquiry to your satisfaction. If I may, we were saddened to hear of the death of your brother and so soon after the loss of your father. Our firm has served the Armisteads for generations. If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to write.

  With sincere wishes,

  William Foster, Esquire

  THERE WERE MORE LETTERS, mainly from two men named Mason and Horn. He would have to ask her about them later. It was the final scrap of paper he came across that most alarmed him. There was no name or address. Unlike the other correspondence, this was not a telegram or a letter written in a formal hand but rather scrawled in messy large letters. The writing childish, roughly educated.

  SHE MAREED the bounder Miss Mikey! That Parcels no good. They done run thro all yur pappy’s money. Yo knowed thems the ones who killed yo pappy fo shure. Headed out west. Alls id know.

  BRICE RUMMAGED through the packet and found the most recent letter which explained her presence near the fort.

  MISS MICHAELA ARMISTEAD

  The man you inquired after was chased out of Deadwood for being a card cheat. There are reports he is headed for the Mexican border by way of the Rio Grande. There is some reliable indication he has turned to illegally peddling whiskey to the natives under the name Black Jack Doolin. As for your second inquiry, there was a woman with him, but she does not match your given description. With all due respect, Miss, the woman traveling with Mr. Showalter does not appear to be a lady of good breeding.

  Sincerely,

  Reginald Herald

  Pinkerton Detective Agency

  BRICE PICKED up the report the corporal had dropped off from the brawl last night. According to the barkeep, before the brawl, Michaela had asked after a Parcels Showalter and a Black Jack Doolin.

  Goddammit! The foolish girl was chasing down the bastard who killed her father. Alone.

  Brice couldn’t decide if he should respect her for her gumption or take her over his knee for her sheer stupidity! Probably both. He couldn’t think of a single woman of his acquaintance who would be brave enough to take on such a quest. No matter. It ended now. He couldn’t allow her to proceed with such a dangerous and foolhardy task. He would make inquiries of his own after this Parcels fellow. In the meantime, he needed to impress upon Michaela that any thought of revenge needed to be put aside. For one thing, she was now in territory controlled by the United States government which did not allow for such vigilante justice.

  But more importantly, he wouldn’t allow it. Whether she liked it or not, she was now under his command and would obey him in this.

  “YOU WENT THROUGH MY PRIVATE BELONGINGS?”

  “Michaela, I want you to listen.” Brice’s tone was even and calm.

  Spreading her arms wide, Michaela began to frantically collect all her letters and telegrams.

  “How dare you read my private letters! You had no right.”

  “As the commanding officer of this fort, I have every right to inspect the belongings of any person or persons placed under arrest,” he fired back. Given what he had just learned of her past, he was trying to show her some patience, something he usually had in short supply, but she was fast wearing him thin.

  Michaela was undeterred.

  “If I were truly under arrest I would be in the guardhouse. I think you are lying.”

  “Michaela, I’m warning you.” His voice had taken on a hard edge.

  “You probably didn’t even have the authority to take me out of that saloon,” she needled.

  “Keep talking and you are going to get a taste of just how much authority I have over you,” he growled.

  His warning was lost on Michaela. Too angry and embarrassed at having her private letters read by the likes of him, she was deaf to anything but her own words.

  “Leave it to a Northerner to go poking around where he wasn’t wanted.” Her allusion to the war was clear.

  “Enough,” roared Brice.

  Michaela watched in horror as his hand lowered to his gun belt. Slowly, he unbuckled the heavy brass plate. She took a few steps backwards. Unwrapping the belt from his waist, he slid the Colt holster from its long length. She took a few more steps backwards. He then folded the thick, heavy length in two, testing the weight in his fist.

  “What… what do you think… think you are doing?” she stammered, her mouth suddenly going dry.

  Brice lowered his brow. His jaw hardened as he took a determined step toward her. “What I should have done last night the first time you sassed me with that impertinent mouth of yours, after starting a saloon brawl I might add!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “You keep challenging me with that phrase. I think it’s time I showed you just how much I will dare.”

  Michaela turned to flee, where she did not know. She would take her chances out on the parade ground of the fort if she had to, anything was better than facing the dark determined look in his eye and the belt in his hand. She only got as far as grasping the door latch.

  Brice caught the tail end of the golden sash still secured to her wrist. Wrenching hard, he turned her body around, then slowly, hand over hand, pulled her closer using the sash.

  Michaela struggled with the knot around her wrist
but could not get it loose. Soon she was in his arms. The impact of his hard chest stole her breath away.

  Wrapping an unrelenting arm around her small waist, Brice lifted Michaela off her feet and half carried her back to the table. Sitting down on the spindle chair, he tossed her over his lap.

  “No! No! No!” she screamed as she ineffectually beat his thighs with tiny fists.

  “You are sorely lacking in discipline, young lady. You need this more than you realize.”

  Flipping the tail of his linen shirt up, he exposed the creamy skin of her pert bottom. For such a little thing, she was delightfully rounded in all the right places, thought Brice as he took in the generous curves of her bottom cheeks. Each one topped with an adorable dimple. The sudden impulse to dip his tongue into a dimple for a taste assailed him.

  Raising his arm high, he brought the heavy leather belt down with a smack, right down the center of her cheeks.

  Michaela reared up. Arching her back. Howling like a wild animal.

  Brice did not pause. Flexing his arm, he spanked her with another blow from the belt then another. Each more fearsome than the last. He would be doing her no favors by sparing the lash. If someone hadn’t done so during her childhood, perhaps she wouldn’t be running around playacting at soldier and chasing down dangerous killers through the wilds of the western frontier. Just the thought of the dangers she subjected herself to made him raise his arm higher and bring the lash of the belt down just a little bit harder than before. This was a lesson she would not soon forget.

  “Stop! Stop! It hurts,” choked Michaela through her sobs.

  The pain was unbearable. She did not even give her pride a moment’s thought before the tears began to flow. There was no pretending this punishment did not affect her. Her misery was too intense. Every time the belt fell on her tender flesh, there was a fresh burst of heat which radiated into a throbbing, prickling pain. Her bottom felt swollen and bruised. The skin tight and hot. No matter how much she begged and pleaded, the punishment seemed to never end.

  Brice watched her bottom cheeks tighten in anticipation of his next blow, only to bounce up when she realized tightening them only heightened the pain. Her ivory skin now glowed a bright, cherry red. There was the occasional dark red line where the edge of the belt caught her too harshly but nothing that wouldn’t heal quickly.

  “Please! Please! Stop! It hurts! Please!” she cried.

  “Who’s in charge?” he demanded.

  “You are! You are!”

  “Will you obey?”

  “Yes! Yes!”

  “Say it,” he ordered.

  “What? Say what?” she sniffed.

  Brice gave her a few swats of the belt along the tender skin of her upper thighs.

  “Say you will obey me.”

  “Yes! Please! Just stop! Yes, I will obey you!”

  Brice put the belt aside. He placed one large hand over her left bottom cheek. Warmth radiated off her skin. He could feel her body pulsing with pain.

  Michaela hissed from the contact, the simple touch bringing a fresh burst of stinging agony to her flesh.

  Brice pressed slightly then lifted his hand, glorifying in the momentary outline of his white hand print. The mark of his hand engulfing her ample bottom cheek. Owning it.

  Placing his strong hands on her shoulders, he gently lifted her off his lap. Standing before him, he looked at her tear-stained face. Even with her cheeks flushed and wet from tears, she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Brushing his thumb through her tears, he instructed her to go over to the table and lay her cheek down, bending herself in half.

  “But… I…” Michaela started to object with hesitation.

  “Michaela. You are not forgetting your promise to obey me so soon?” he chastised. “Do I need to flip you over my knee for a few more licks from my belt as a reminder?”

  “No! No! I haven’t forgotten,” she hurriedly said.

  Walking on stiff limbs, she moved the few steps to the table, laying her cheek on the cool surface as commanded. To protect her modesty and ease her shame, she started to allow the linen shirt to fall back over her hips.

  “Keep the shirt above your waist, young lady. I need access to your punished bottom.”

  Michaela didn’t think it possible for her cheeks, either of them, to burn hotter than they already were from embarrassment, but his charged words sent them to new heights. The polished wood beneath her face quickly lost its cooling touch under the flame of her skin.

  Crossing to a small shelf by the fireplace, Brice selected a rough, earthenware jar with a cork lid. Returning to Michaela, he uncorked the jar and dipped his fingers into the cool, slippery contents. Aloe from the cactus plant. The natives used it to cool burns and soothe wounds. Placing a restraining hand on her lower back, Brice swept the clear, thick ointment over her punished skin.

  Michaela sprang up on her toes at the first contact. It felt cool and wet, yet dry at the same time.

  Alarmed this was some other form of torturous punishment, she asked, “What is that?”.

  “Easy. It will pull the heat from your bottom and allow your skin to cool,” soothed Brice as he continued to spread the cooling salve over her curves, all the while appreciating the feel of her skin, the shape of her bottom, her responsiveness to his touch.

  Slowly, his hand caressed the gentle top slope then slid to cup the underside, his middle finger stroking the sensitive area between her bottom and upper thigh. In the silence of the small cabin, he could hear Michaela’s breath hitch. Moving his hand back and forth, back and forth, lightly petting, with each stroke drawing closer to the hidden secret between her thighs. Each time he drew near to that forbidden place, she would hold her breath. She might as well had begged him with sweet words.

  Placing one strong hand by her head, Brice leaned over her prone body. Whispering into her ear, he said, “Open your legs.”

  Michaela whimpered. Her eyes were tightly closed but she didn’t need to see him to read his intent. The seductive honey of his voice was enough. Her mind spun with countering thoughts. Pain, pleasure. Enemy, lover. Stay, run.

  When she didn’t respond to his command, Brice grasped a generous amount of her soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger and pinched. Hard.

  Michaela yelped as she shot up on her toes, trying to escape the piercing pain. The pinch was painful enough, but on her newly spanked skin, it was dreadful!

  “Open your legs,” he repeated more firmly.

  Michaela slid her feet outwards on the wood plank floor.

  “Wider.”

  She obeyed.

  He slipped a single finger along her silken folds.

  Goddammit, thought Brice as he closed his eyes with a groan.

  Her body was warm, wet and ready… for him. He was almost half hoping she wouldn’t be. It would have been easier to resist her. He reached down and grasped his shaft through the rough wool of his uniform trousers, trying to ease the ache. It was his duty to protect her… and, yes, to discipline her… but not to fuck her. Giving his cock another hard squeeze, he pushed his finger deeper between her legs.

  Michaela gave a soft mewing sound as her fingers spread wide on the table, grasping… straining.

  Ruthlessly, ignoring his own sense of duty, Brice pushed a second finger along her sensitive cunny. Michaela instinctively pushed her hips out.

  Grinding his hip against her side, reveling in the press of her body along his painfully erect cock, he slid both fingers into her tight passage. She was so tense he had to force them past her own resisting body.

  His voice, hoarse with desire, commanded, “Don’t fight me, Michaela.”

  Lost in a chasm of confusing, unfamiliar emotions and sensations, Michaela had no idea what he meant.

  Pushing in deeper, he could feel her inner walls clench and clamp around his fingers. The thought of the same sensation assailing his cock nearly sent him over the edge. Gritting his teeth, he focused on giving he
r pleasure. Bending just the tips, he began to rhythmically thrust in and out of her taut passage, listening as her breathing became harsher. Her hips began to move and shift under his ministrations.

  Thrusting harder, he shifted his other hand from her lower back to caress down the front of her thigh, then between. Searching, he found her small bud and twirled the tip of his finger around and around.

  Michaela cried out. “Please! I don’t know! What is… oh God!”

  Sensing she was near completion, Brice thrust his long fingers in deeper, harder… then froze. What he felt was unmistakable. Her maiden’s barrier. The girl was a maiden. Despite all she had been through, her virginity was intact. By all rights, this should have strengthened his resolve to do his duty by the girl and no more. More than ever, he should see her protected and returned to her remaining family… intact. It was what a gentleman would do. It was what an officer in the United States Cavalry would do. Unfortunately, during their short acquaintance, he was quickly learning where Michaela was concerned, he acted as a man first and the rest be damned.

  The thought that no man had touched her—the thought that all this fire and spirit could be his for the claiming—had his primal self roaring to life.

  Conquer. Tame. Own.

  Mine.

  Holding onto the tiny shred of humanity he had left after learning she was still chaste, Brice ruthlessly reined in his own needs and focused on hers. There was no amount of justification even he could do that would allow for him to take her like a harlot bent over a table in broad daylight. He would just have to bide his time.

  It only took a few more thrusts from his fingers and a timely pinch of her delicate nub for Michaela to cry out in wonder as flashes of light and color burst behind her closed eyelids.

  FEELING SHY AND DISORIENTED, Michaela didn’t even argue when moments later, Brice sat her down in front of a plate of now cold eggs and bacon and sternly ordered her to eat breakfast. She barely noticed the pain in her bottom from the hard wooden seat. Barely noticed when he left the cabin. All was a hazy blur. Whether it was a few minutes or an hour later, she could not tell you, but soon Brice returned with an older woman in tow. Her first chance at escape, and she had completely missed it. She was so wrapped up in the aftermath of—well, whatever it was he had done to her—all thoughts of flight vanished. Damn the arrogant Yankee!